


Falling Out of Sync

by BlueMinuet



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, Miscommunication, Post-Break Up, Post-Transformers: Lost Light 25, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-24
Updated: 2018-11-24
Packaged: 2019-08-28 21:12:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16730727
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueMinuet/pseuds/BlueMinuet
Summary: After the quantum jump fails and everyone returns to "real life", Perceptor makes a few errors in his next calculations.They say time heals all wounds, but maybe not for time travelers with a stubborn streak.





	Falling Out of Sync

**Author's Note:**

> So much thanks to Caitlin and Syd, who listened to me break Simpatico for what would eventually become this fic. Also, sorry for the ruined feelings.

It's been five years, ten weeks, three days since the last time Perceptor talked to Brainstorm. Maybe that's why he finds himself staring at the message title, rather than opening it and getting back to his experiments. It's not from Brainstorm, but… anything about the Lost Light is tied with an unbreakable tether to Brainstorm in his mind. 

“Are you going to the festival?”

Perceptor blinks, and his processor gives a few false starts before it parses the question and stutters into action. He looks over at his coworker, and frowns. He still hasn’t gotten used to his new lab partner, still freshly transferred from Luna One. 

It's not that he dislikes Quark. He had a healthy professional respect for the Quark he knew in his universe, and though saying they were friends would be putting it a bit too strongly, he had an appreciation for his colleague’s work. He didn’t know him well enough to say if he differed in any significant way from this one, the Quark which spawned from the functionalist universe, but certainly he doesn't have any ill-will towards him…

… That's a lie, and Perceptor duly notes it as he shoves the line of thought away. He can't say whether the feeling comes from the residual feeling of disdain for the functionalist universe — and what they subsequently tried to do to his own universe — or if the problem is of a more petty and personal nature. Either way, lacking the logic to support it, he does what he would do anyway and shoves the feeling down so that he can reply to his coworker. 

“I haven't decided yet.” Perceptor doesn't need to ask what festival he's talking about. He may not be the most social mech, and has a tendency to lose track of the calendar in his laser focus on his work, but he keeps up on the holidays if only to know when to avoid the crowds. 

Quark doesn’t look up from his work, but does hum thoughtfully at that. “I believe I heard your old crew was having a bit of an event,” he says, and Perceptor wonders if maybe he’s seen the unread email, glaring red at the top of Perceptor’s inbox (as it has been for the past two weeks). He somewhat hopes that’s the case, but he knows there are more likely scenarios. 

Perceptor hasn’t opened the message, but he can already guess 98% of the content, just from the sender and the title. He knows the date and location, and would only need to open it to confirm the time, if he felt so inclined as to go. 

Part of him can’t think of a single reason not to attend. 

Another part can think of a countless multiverse of reasons. 

Maybe he’s leaving the message unread to punish himself for something, the judgement of the message glaring at him serving as penance for a crime he hasn’t quite ascribed words to yet. 

“I understand how it might be hard, given the circumstances,” Quark says. He doesn’t say what the circumstances are. There’s the obvious one that any random passerby could think of, and then there’s the more personal circumstance that Quark is either blissfully unaware of, or is so intimately familiar with that it colors this entire conversation with a questionable shade. 

Perceptor fears little, but he fears the latter, and has never worked up the courage to open the box to find out which quantum state that variable lands on. 

He opens the email instead.  
  


* * *

  
“You didn’t hear about the accident?” 

“The what?” Perceptor says. He didn’t realize it came out as a growl until Drift visibly reacts, and holds up his hands as if trying to placate a stray turbofox. Perceptor shakes his head. “Sorry, what?” he says, softer this time. “I just, feel as if I’ve… missed a lot.” 

“I think we all feel that way, to a degree,” Drift says. “It’s alright, you’ve been away… and honestly, Brainstorm hasn’t been very forthcoming about the finer details anyway.” 

Perceptor doesn’t look back over his shoulder, where his erstwhile lab partner is likely still chatting with Cyclonus and Tailgate. He wants to, but he doesn’t. He’s tried to talk to Brainstorm on no less than three occasions tonight, casually sidling close enough to eek out a ‘hello’, but Brainstorm clearly has no interest in olive branches, hurrying away each time with some newly minted excuse. 

They say time heals all wounds, but maybe not for time travelers with a stubborn streak. 

When he’d seen the briefcase, he’d almost hoped for something more universe-breaking than what it was. Lately, he’s been feeling like this universe could use a shake up. 

“All I know is that he can’t go far from his lab without the life support,” Drift says, shrugging slightly. “I don’t really know how it works. Maybe you should ask him. After all, I’ve never known him to miss an opportunity to explain his genius inventions.” 

“Maybe,” Perceptor says. However, it’s been five years, four weeks, and six days since the last time Brainstorm spoke to him, and Perceptor doesn’t feel like today is the day they’ll break their streak.  
  


* * *

  
Perceptor is vaguely aware that he hasn’t spoken in several minutes. Another one slowly ticks away as he searches for something else to say, desperately urging his processor to spit out something, anything. 

“It’s okay,” Brainstorm says. “You can think about it for a bit, I just…” He gestures forward with his hands, offering up the item again. “Just take it,” he says, not angrily, but definitely with just a touch of nervousness. “I mean, regardless… it’s a gift.” 

Perceptor screams at his processor until his arms are provoked into working, taking the model from Brainstorm. It’s a fairly accurate replica of Perceptor’s alt mode, if a bit rugged and rough around the edges. Brainstorm had explained that he’d made it during his extended absence, crafting it in his spare time from scrap metal from the Necrobot’s fortress. (The idea that such a sentence could make any sort of sense still boggles Perceptor slightly.) It has weld marks in a few places, scars where paint won’t adhere quite right. Perceptor thinks those little flaws are the best part. He can just imagine Brainstorm holed up in whatever corner he can find, the cramped spaces of their makeshift spacecraft not allowing for a full workspace, Brainstorm heating and twisting metal with whatever tools he can grab. More than likely unadvisedly using his hands from time to time and cursing softly as he burns himself, but continues doing it regardless. 

Those thoughts make Perceptor’s spark sing in its casing. 

When he looks up, he realizes Brainstorm is awkwardly trying to break away, likely because Perceptor still hasn’t said anything and the air is growing awkward. 

“Brainstorm,” he finally manages to say, stopping the other in his tracks, still as a statue at the sound of his name. “Thank you,” Perceptor says. “Really. I will gladly take your offer of time to think over what you said, but… this is very thoughtful.” 

Brainstorm’s optics glint, betraying a smile too wide for his mask to hide. “Well… I aim to please.” 

Perceptor didn’t bother hiding his smile.  
  


* * *

  
Perceptor thinks about the jump from time to time. 

He remembers the excitement as they set the ship on its hurtling course, gambling to break space and time until they come out on the other side. Until they finally win for once. 

He remembers the dour, somber feeling in the aftermath, when they found out they were in the same universe, the one that condemned them to normalcy. Whatever that possibly meant. 

He remembers the mass exodus to the bar, where spirits picked up slightly, but a sense of loss still permeated the air. 

Even though Perceptor had been the one preaching caution, about the high probability of failure, he couldn’t help but feel disappointment as well. It felt like they’d been on the cusp of something extraordinary, and then, nothing… 

Brainstorm had refilled his drink with that same twinkling look of excitement in his eyes, and that had shocked Perceptor out of his funk instantly. 

It took Perceptor years to figure out why Brainstorm had remained so chipper. Perceptor always thought so linearly. It was one of his fatal flaws, especially when confronted with the work of someone like Brainstorm, who seemed to not just handle convolution well, but thrive in it. 

The fact of the matter was that they hadn’t failed at all. In a world of infinite universes, infinite possibilities in infinite combinations, there was no way the jump could fail. Countless Lost Lights, including theirs, had mundanely returned to their own universe, but one… one made it. One had to. Because the universe now had no room left for gambles. 

He thought about that from time to time, often in the mundane moments of listening to the clatter of a labmate that wasn’t the person he wanted to have puttering around in his space. Five years, eleven weeks, and five days in the era of After Brainstorm, Perceptor clung to the thought that there was a luckier Perceptor out there.  
  


* * *

  
“So, what else happened in this… afterlife?” 

Nautica shushes him, holding up a finger as she downed the rest of her engex cocktail, draining it so completely that she was able to upturn it on the nearby table without leaving a drop to mar the surface. Perceptor isn’t sure if she’s drinking to drown the depression of the universe jump experiment failing, or if she’s secretly in a drinking competition that Perceptor missed being initiated. With all the rowdiness of the crew for their last hurrah, he can’t discount the latter. 

“I mean, not much else,” Nautica says. “I mean, I told you about the big ol’ matrix, all the dead loved ones, the quest to find answers, and all the distractions they threw at us to make us turn back…” A finger darts up into the air with each item she lists off, as her gaze goes just the slightest bit more fuzzy. 

“Distractions?” Perceptor asks. “I think you glossed over that part.” 

“Huh?” Nautica says, cocking her head to one side. “That’s weird, wonder why I did that… Anyway, yeah, the telepaths started throwing all their tricks at us the closer we got to them. Most of them were like, I dunno, trying to give us the thing we wanted most. Well, except Drift got zapped away in lightning. I think Rodimus said that was his fault though. But then they led Nightbeat away with a trail of clues, and well… poor Nightbeat… They tried to lure me away with Skids, of all people, but that was… Oh wait, yeah! That was after they lured away Brainstorm.” 

Perceptor perks up, and any hopes he had of hiding his interest summarily die on the spot. He acutely feels Brainstorm’s gift in his waist compartment, as if the pull of gravity around it has increased, but pleasantly so. “Brainstorm? What did they lure him away with?” 

“Yeah, what’s his name?” Nautica mutters to herself, frowning. “I’m such a bad friend, I know Stormy has told me about him a dozen times. He’s the one that… you know, with the thing… Quantum?” 

Perceptor squints. “Quark?” 

“That’s it,” Nautica says, jabbing at the air with a wobbly finger. “Yeah, Quark appeared to him. Said he’d been waiting there for millenia for Brainstorm so they could be conjunxes in the afterlife… Weird, right?” 

Perceptor feels a bit wobbly himself now, peering down at his engex but knowing that it’s not the root cause. Apparently he doesn’t say anything for long enough that Nautica gets distracted and pulled into another conversation. Perceptor doesn’t bother chasing after her. 

Across the room, his eyes meet with Brainstorm’s for a second. Brainstorm gives him a small wave, daring to break away from whatever thing Magnus is currently gesticulating about. 

The gift in Perceptor’s waist compartment now feels like a weight threatening to topple him over. 

He gives a small wave back in reply anyway.  
  


* * *

  
**_Brainstorm: you ever think maybe this just isn’t working?_**  


Perceptor thinks that about a truly terrifying number of things in his life currently, though Brainstorm saying it is perhaps a worst case scenario. 

**_Perceptor: What do you mean?_**  


It’s not unusual for Brainstorm to message him in the middle of the night, though it’s been a rarer occurrence since they returned to the planet. Well, one of them on the planet, and one of them on Luna One. It’s late for both of them, however, Perceptor having long ago done the conversion in his head and confirmed that ‘too late’ in his time zone typically slips over the fine line into ‘early morning’ on Brainstorm’s end. However, neither of them are known for their timely or regular recharge schedules. 

Perceptor holds his data tablet above his head, watching Brainstorm’s icon pop up occasionally with a blinking ellipses, before hastily disappearing again. He wonders how long Brainstorm agonized over the first message to begin with. 

Perceptor isn’t petty enough to wonder if someone is lying beside Brainstorm as he types. He trusts that Brainstorm would tell him of any developments in that area. And even if he didn’t, Perceptor was the one that has decided to remove himself from the equation. He knows he’s not owed any updates or explanations. 

His tablet dings a few times with new messages. 

**_Brainstorm: the whole umm… the whole friends thing_**  
**_Brainstorm: i’ve just been thinking about it, and, i dunno, i know you said you just wanted to do the friends thing while we’re long distance and…_**  
**_Brainstorm: and it’s just. well_**  
**_Brainstorm: sorry, i kinda didn’t expect you to see this til morning, i didn’t have my thesis statement completely plotted out yet_**  


Perceptor mulls that around his processor for a moment. There’s hurt, but a distant sort of one, like a patch-weld getting yanked off an old wound. 

**_Perceptor: Perhaps we should talk this over in the morning._**  
**_Brainstorm: yeah… maybe…_**  


Perceptor shuts off his tablet and sets it aside. He’s not in the business of trying to predict the future, but he knows this with some amount of certainty… 

They won’t talk it over in the morning.  
  


* * *

  
Perceptor’s dirty secret is that, sometimes, while left alone in the lab, he listens to some of Brainstorm’s old recordings. He has a quick command to cut the audio for the inevitable moment that Getaway barges into his lab unannounced to demand the next new miracle, and Perceptor has no intention to be caught and be forced to explain himself. 

He can’t even explain it within his own mind. It started with a frustration at suddenly being locked out of half his lab in the wake of his lab partner deserting, siding with a genocidal maniac and… No, he can’t really justifiably trash Brainstorm’s judgement in that, the more he thinks it over. And he’s had a lot of time to do just that. It already feels fuzzy as he tries to recall just how long it’s been. 

In any case, in his search for lab access codes he found dozens of audio recordings on Brainstorm’s terminal. There were some password protected ones, and despite a tug of curiosity, Perceptor would never stoop to cracking into those. But all of his experiment notes, those were freely available to be played by anyone with access to the terminal. 

He supposed Brainstorm’s ramblings had become a familiar soundtrack to his work. He found himself chucking as Brainstorm narrated his thought processes, and the occasional mishaps that they led to. 

For all his foibles, there was something to be said for Brainstorm’s genius. His determination. Perceptor feels his face plates heating up. 

It occurs to him that he never had the chance to really say that to Brainstorm. 

He wonders if he ever will.  
  


* * *

  
Perceptor walks the boulevard in Iacon. It’s strange seeing the functionalist version of it, so similar to the version that he was familiar with from before the war, but just different enough to feel a touch off-putting. 

He had been certain that the cafe that Brainstorm had asked him to meet at was somewhere around here, though now he’s beginning to regret being too stubborn to note down the coordinates. 

As soon as he catches the sight of gray wings poking up behind a teal paint job, his spark skips a rotation in his chest. He takes the steps up to the cafe patio two at a time, beginning to smirk as he gets closer. 

Brainstorm isn’t alone. His mask is off as he nurses a cube, and his face is clearly awed as his companion speaks. 

Perceptor catches sight of Quark and his spark stops altogether. 

“Perceptor!” 

It takes him a moment to realize Brainstorm is calling for him. He’s being waved over, and his pedes follow the command before he fully processes it. Soon he’s saying hello to both the scientists at the table. 

Brainstorm is positively beaming, and Perceptor is floored. 

“Look who I found,” Brainstorm said, gesturing at Quark. 

“Ah, did the… other version of me… know you as well?” Quark seems a bit off-kilter, which is probably the most reasonable reaction to reuniting with colleagues of a dead alternate version of yourself. 

Perceptor nods dully, after his processor screeches for him to do something before the situation becomes more awkward, reaching out to shake his hand. “Yes, we’d met. It is good to… well, meet you.” 

“You as well,” Quark says. “I have to say, I’m still boggling over the idea of multiple universes… much less alternate versions of me! I always thought such things to be constrained to the bounds of science fiction.” 

“I understand the sentiment,” Perceptor mutters, thinking of his own crash course. 

“Not to worry, they’ll be plenty of time for me to catch you up on the intricacies,” Brainstorm says, impishly pointing a finger gun at him as his grin once again stretches across the breadth of his helm. 

“Oh?” Perceptor asks before he can think better of it. 

“Oh, Quark and I just found out that we both intend to take positions at the Luna One facilities, helping with spark harvest and investigating the rest of the mysteries of the moon,” Brainstorm explains. 

“Yes, I’m quite excited by the prospect,” Quark says, looking equally delighted. “It’s the opportunity of a lifetime!” 

Perceptor forces a smile.  
  


* * *

  
“There you are!”

Perceptor’s spark positively aches at the sight of Brainstorm jogging towards him. He’s loaded down with enough baggage to fill half a lab on his own, but he seems completely unbothered by the weight as he breaks away from the boarding line on his ship to catch up to Perceptor. 

“I was worried I wouldn’t see you before the launch,” Brainstorm says, setting down some of his burden while venting. 

“I wouldn’t miss saying goodbye,” Perceptor says, forcing a smile. 

Brainstorm gives him a strange look. “It doesn’t have to be goodbye, you know… it’s never too late for you to join us.” 

“I’m… needed in Iacon.” It probably isn’t a lie, he muses. Iacon needs a lot of work. 

He thinks Brainstorm might be smiling under his mask, but his eyes look sad. “Well, there’s always instant messaging, I guess. And the trip isn’t too far, so—” 

Perceptor cuts him off with a wave. “Actually, before you go, there’s something I wanted to say.” 

Brainstorm stares at him for a moment before simply nodding, urging him on. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Perceptor says. “And… so much has happened. Recently and also just… well, for the past four million years…” Brainstorm huffs a laugh at that. “I don’t think we should rush into anything. Not until we know what… well, what normal for us even is.” 

Brainstorm is giving him a blank look. “What do you mean?” 

Perceptor reaches into his waist compartment and pulls out the miniature model of himself. 

“No,” Brainstorm whispers softly. “That was a gift.” 

“Take it,” Perceptor says, offering it to him. “I mean… to remember me by. That’s why you made it in the first place, right?” He forces another smirk. “I mean, I certainly have no need to remember what my alt mode looks like.” 

Brainstorm slowly takes it from him, but he clearly isn’t convinced. “Alright… okay. So?” 

“Friends?” Perceptor asks. 

Brainstorm nods, seeming a bit dazed. “Right. Friends.” 

“Brainstorm! Hurry up before they leave us!” They both recognize Quark’s voice beckoning from the loading ship. 

“I have to…” Brainstorm gestures at the ship with his thumb. 

Perceptor nods. “Like you said, there’s always instant messaging right?” 

“Yeah,” Brainstorm says, unsure now. “Alright, well. We’ll talk.” 

“We’ll talk.”  
  


* * *

  
Perceptor walks through the streets, festivities filling the air with cheerful sounds and sights and smells. A small cadre of bubbly lights have already begun filling the sky, an advanced team leading the way before thousands more lights join them at nightfall. The sun hasn’t quite set yet, the sky still streaked with a golden hue in the death throes of twilight. Most establishments are packed with revelers waiting for sunset to fade and the real festivities to start, but Perceptor comes to a stop in front of a quieter building with a simple handmade sign hanging on the door. 

_‘Closed for a Private Event’_

Perceptor takes a moment to brace himself before pushing the door open. 

He counts himself lucky to not be the last of the crew to make it there. Minimus and Chromedome are off to one side, setting up an impromptu stage, while others grab drinks and mingle. He hears snippets of conversation, mostly people talking about the ship, people who may drop in on their private party later on… and people that wouldn’t show up ever again. Such is the nature of the Festival of Lost Light, even if it has a different connotation for everyone in this room. Perceptor shares pleasantries with those he passes, careful not to get sucked into any in-depth conversation. He knows there will be plenty of time to catch up with the old crew before the night is over. 

Before he can go much farther, Drift expertly intercepts him. 

“I’m glad you came,” Drift says, managing to hold him in place even though both of his hands are filled with drinks. 

“Did you think I wouldn’t show up?”

Drift smiles in such a way that makes it clear Perceptor doesn’t want to hear the answer. 

“How are you?” Perceptor asks, floundering for what to say in this situation. 

Drift shakes his head. “Don’t worry about that. We can talk later. Here, take this.” He offers up one of the drinks in his hand, near forcing it into Perceptor’s hand. 

Perceptor takes it, a bit bewildered, and hasn’t managed to recover before Drift flicks the glass with his finger, and flames pop up on the surface. 

Drift laughs as Perceptor quickly tries to blow out the flame. “Swerve calls it the New Old Flame. Cute, right?” 

Perceptor glares at him, over his newly extinguished drink, making it clear how cute he finds it. 

Drift continues chuckling even as he takes a sip of his own drink. “Anyway…” he says, and jerks his head over his shoulder so that his finial jabs towards the booths in the back. “Good luck, Percy.” 

As Drift retreats, Perceptor follows the line of the finial jerk and sees a teal paint job. He sighs, but refuses to back down. 

Given his previous experience with Brainstorm at the funeral, as he walks over he quickly comes up with what he thinks will give him the best chance to say his piece. 

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out, before Brainstorm has a chance to bolt. Brainstorm pauses, mid-drink. Perceptor takes a moment to admire his maskless face, before shaking that thought out of his head. There were more important things to deal with. 

Brainstorm gives him a leary look, but continues drinking even as Perceptor settles into the seat across from him. 

“When we reunited after the mutiny, I had so many things to say to you, but I didn’t, because I was a coward,” Perceptor says, without preamble. Taking time to line up his shot is what got him into this, he realizes now. Time to try going for the old grenade trick instead. “You weren’t a coward. You charged bravely into the unknown, but given time to mull it over, I even screwed that up. I convinced myself that it was too soon to take a chance. I convinced myself that after you thought it over, you’d want someone else. You faced your fears. I ran.” 

Brainstorm sets his drink down, swirling it slightly. For a moment it seems like he might say something, but the moment stretches on a few beats too long. On his own time, he looks up at Perceptor. “Go on, I’m just savoring this.” 

Perceptor flinches, but it’s nothing he doesn’t deserve. “I should have been honest with you. About my feelings… and my fears.” 

“You’re damn right,” Brainstorm mutters, taking another sip. 

“Why didn’t you pursue Quark, anyway?” Perceptor asks, mumbling over the words he’s ashamed to speak. 

Brainstorm rolls his eyes. “Honestly, Percy? Right out of the gate?” 

Despite knowing that he screwed up, hearing Brainstorm say his nickname gave him a flutter. 

After a sigh and leaning back into his seat, Brainstorm finally speaks. “Well for one thing, how did you think that conversation would go? ‘Hi, I was madly in love with the alternate version of you and went back in time to derail a war so that he could live, even though it would erase my own birth so we’d never be able to be together’? Do you think that’s how most solid relationships start?” 

“Well, I’d hardly know,” Perceptor mumbles. 

To his pleasure, Brainstorm at least smirks at that. “And besides that… I’d been over him for a long time by that point. Seemed like anything else would be a backslide.” 

“I thought you were too stubborn to give up that easy,” Perceptor says. 

“Percy, I _proposed_ to you,” Brainstorm says, holding his hands out, palms up, as if pleading. “I don’t know if I needed to be _clearer_ somehow, but I thought that would get the point across that I wasn’t into Quark anymore.” 

“I was going to say yes,” Perceptor says. “I think about that all the time… If the jump had worked, I was going to celebrate by telling you everything I wanted to tell you while you were gone.” 

The expression on Brainstorm’s face is unreadable, some messy mix of pain and pity, and probably a non-insignificant amount of exasperation. “Well, at least somewhere out there is a Percy that can get his act together… If the jump worked.”

“Of course it worked,” Perceptor says, staring at him with wide honest eyes. “You’re too much of a genius for it to have failed.” 

Brainstorm shakes his head. “You’re going to have to try harder than that.” 

Perceptor reaches out, and when Brainstorm doesn’t shy away, he grabs both of his hands. “I intend to.” 

“Damn it, Percy,” Brainstorm mutters. “I should kick you out of this bar.” 

“No one would blame you,” Perceptor says. “But?” 

Brainstorm slips one hand away. Perceptor worries for a moment, but Brainstorm reaches into a compartment and pulls something out. 

The metal model of Perceptor thumps heavily on the table in front of them. Perceptor stares at it in awe. 

“To remember you by, right?” Brainstorm says. At Perceptor’s stunned nod, he pushes the figure closer to Perceptor. “Take it,” he says softly. “I’ve never needed any help remembering you.” 

Perceptor picks it up and feels the same sense of wonder that he did the first time he held it. Brainstorm pulls his hand away, picking up his drink as he seems to try to appear casual. Perceptor looks at it for another beat, before looking back to Brainstorm, then down to the briefcase shackled to his wrist, then back again. He gingerly sets the figure aside. 

“So, are we… alright?” 

“Something approaching it,” Brainstorm says, after moment’s consideration. “Construction in progress? Please ignore the mess?” 

Perceptor nods. “In that case, I’d like to ask you something that I wanted to ask two months ago. I’m afraid I can’t help but say it very bluntly though.” 

Brainstorm is beginning to look uncomfortable again, unsure in the wake of all the feelings, but he nods. “Might as well.” 

Perceptor vents for a moment, taking a moment to collect himself. Finally he slams a hand on the table. “What the hell were you thinking, getting yourself hurt so badly that you need a life support system?” 

Brainstorm sets his drink down. “Typical. You think you can waltz back in and start giving me lectures again about lab safety and taking precautions?” 

“Yes!” Perceptor says without a moment’s hesitation. “And you’ll have to put up with many more lectures, because you’re never going to do something like that ever again!” 

Brainstorm pushes himself to standing, arms crossed as he stares down at Perceptor. “I know I okayed the blunt force trauma you’re doling out right now, but at what point in crossing over this thin ice we’re on made you think you can start telling me what to do?” 

Perceptor stood up as well. “I’m not telling you what to do.” Before Brainstorm could argue, Perceptor grabbed his head and pulled him in for a kiss. “I’m begging,” he says after the chaste peck is over. 

Brainstorm stops for a moment, staring, considering. Perceptor watches those gold eyes roam over his face — dwelling briefly on eyes, nose, lips — before Brainstorm finally pulls him in for another kiss. 

He’s quite certain between the yelling and the kissing, the entire crew is looking at them now. 

He can’t find it in him to care. 

Brainstorm pulls away reluctantly, his forehead resting on Perceptor’s. “You and me, huh?” 

“Simpatico,” Perceptor says, whispering the word reverently, as if he doesn’t quite deserve to say it. Brainstorm pecks him again, clearly okay with it. 

Brainstorm pulls away enough to grab his drink from the table. “To us?” he asks, holding it out. “To trying again?” 

Perceptor smiles and grabs his glass as well. “To do-overs,” he says, holding it out to tap Brainstorm’s.

They both scream when Perceptor’s glass lights on fire again.  
  


* * *

  
Five years, twelve weeks, two days, eight hours, one minute, and thirteen seconds ago, he and Brainstorm stopped talking. 

Now, as Brainstorm pulls him closer on his berth, Perceptor thinks about how he couldn’t have handled a single second more.


End file.
